


Midnight Sun

by Mystical_Magician



Category: Doctor Who, Frozen (2013)
Genre: Abuse, Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drama, F/M, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1362412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystical_Magician/pseuds/Mystical_Magician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose inherited the magic of ice and snow through her father. By the time she is old enough to understand, her only sources of instruction are the old, family book and the stories her mother remembers, but one lesson adheres above all: keep it secret. If even the Doctor has not yet discovered it, she must be doing something right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wintergirl

_But if it had to perish twice,_  
 _I think I know enough of hate_  
 _To say that for destruction ice_  
 _Is also great_  
 _And would suffice._

\- Robert Frost, “Fire and Ice”

 

 

For as long as she can remember, Rose lives with an undercurrent of fear. Fear of being discovered, fear of being taken, fear of being experimented on. It’s not a baseless fear, and there are CCTV cameras everywhere in London.

 

Keep it secret.

 

Her mother hadn’t exactly understood what her father had told her in those brief months since Rose’s birth (blonde hair so pale it is almost white, and an occasional flurry of snowflakes spark on her fingertips) and his death, but the fear of losing her daughter struck her bone-deep. Because

 

_once upon a time, an old woman, her pregnant daughter, and her son-in-law had appeared suddenly in a world of machines and science, where magic is but sleight of hand, and they could not find their way home again. And when that unborn child was grown up and married, an Institute recently established by a frightened queen witnessed by chance what that once-child could do. She was taken, and her husband killed in the struggle, though she did not find out until days after, and in the finding, her wrath was great enough to free herself and bring a killing blizzard upon the house. Scars marred her skin from the instruments of torture, and she fled with her parents to the south, where she passed down to her descendents that most important rule: keep it secret._

 

It is not common, the magic of ice and snow, often skipping several generations before appearing. Always manifesting in a girl, and always growing stronger over time. It is not a Curse, Pete’s father explains, before his death (Rose is too young, still, to remember him very clearly, and he was the last living family member who could help her with this strange, otherworldly legacy).

 

But sometimes it feels like she is cursed.

 

The battered, leather-bound book is Rose’s only tangible instruction. Because to hide, she must learn control. To understand, she must learn as much of her family’s history as she can. Although, it is not until her teenage years that she can truly comprehend what the book says.

 

Her mother does what she can. She forbids the use of her powers outside of their apartment on the Powell Estates (all those CCTV cameras!), and admonishes Rose to be extremely careful inside. Small flurries or ice carvings only, although she has a bit more freedom in her own room. She bundles Rose up in almost too many layers to make up for the way the cold does not affect her daughter, and dyes her hair regularly, in darker colors (because her hair is nearly white, and she cannot risk the attention). She reads her the tale of the Snow Queen, which, in hindsight, is not Jackie’s best idea (interrupted by sniffles, lower lip trembling, eyes squinting to hold back tears as she whimpers, “Mummy, I don’t wanna be evil”). She spends the rest of her evening consoling her little girl, and moves on to other fairy tales and fantasy afterward. And a few times, when Rose is still a child, still learning control, Jackie saves enough money for a short winter holiday somewhere remote, and snowy.

 

But for all of Rose’s hard-earned maturity, she is still a child, and cannot always resist the temptation of little ice and snow tricks when the park is coated in snow and chaotic with playing children. Snow banks positioned to favor her, snowmen that were created faster and larger than the others, snow angels without footprints.

 

Her mother catches her at it once, and shouts until Rose is near tears.

 

In every other way her childhood on the estate is ordinary, and over time, having nearly memorized the book and the stories, gaining as much control over her abilities as she thinks she will ever have, she stops thinking about it. Pushes it to the very back of her mind, because she might have magic, but life is not a fairy tale. Goes to school, hangs with friends, does chores, falls into a routine and tries to pretend that she doesn’t dream of more as her mother scrimps and saves. They manage to get by somehow, and sometimes there are miracles. A red bicycle for Christmas one year, their worst year when Rose expects nothing. A whole turkey another, when all they seem to have in the cupboards are tins of beans and instant noodles.

 

And then she falls in love.

 

Jimmy Stone is older (a man, she thinks, rather than a boy), a musician, and more than a bit fit. She is flattered by his attentions, and eager when he tells her of his plans. That he will make it big, and she will come with him on the road when he tours. He promises to take care of her, represents everything she wants with her 16-year-old heart. Jimmy is freedom, and love, and she drops out of school for him, to help support his career (the thought of sitting her A-levels made her nervous, and Jimmy said she hardly needed them anyway, and didn’t she trust him?).

 

Rose moves in with him (her mum shouting disapproval and disappointment, but she just doesn’t understand that they love each other and everything will work itself out), and gets a job to help support him, as well as dipping into her savings. Because he’s so close to getting a break; they just need to bear the difficulties for a little bit, baby, he reassures her.

 

A little bit longer stretches on and on, and things change gradually enough that Rose adapts without too much thought (Jimmy’s words begin to tear her down, grow harsher as his touches grow rougher, and he comes home drunk with increasing frequency). She loves him. She forgives him, excuses him because she loves him, and it’s not his fault, there must be something wrong with her (she has been different all her life).

 

The first time he smacks her, Rose is shocked and uncertain how to react. Jimmy apologizes profusely, makes it up to her with sex that she won’t admit is hardly satisfying. The blow hadn’t hurt all that much, and he’d been stumbling and drunk at the time, and anyway, she had been rather clumsy in breaking that dish.

 

Eventually, he stops apologizing, but it doesn’t happen all that often, just when he really loses control (he tears her down verbally instead, drawing on all of her insecurities and magnifying them).

 

When everything comes to a head, Rose is almost a shadow of herself. She catches him cheating on her that afternoon, and it is the final straw for her. She tells him that they are over, and she leaves the flat to give herself time to calm down, and to give the bastard and his…company time to leave. She does not want to see him.

 

She loses track of time, and it is too late for her to pack before leaving. Rose would not feel comfortable traveling across the city to her mum’s apartment at such a late hour. The least Jimmy owes her is one last night in her bed (and several hundred pounds which she will demand when she is calmer and not alone), and in any case, he has a gig, and rarely returns before sunrise.

 

But she is wrong. Jimmy crashes into the apartment at 3:00 in the morning, blind drunk and raging. Rose tumbles out of bed and leaps to her feet, heart racing, and he snarls the moment he sees her.

 

“You do not leave _me_ , you worthless _bitch_ ,” he slurs, and his hand-eye coordination is hardly compromised when he strikes her. The second blow, to her cheek that time, stuns her almost insensible. By the third, by the time she realizes that he means to keep going, the adrenaline surges through her and she hardly feels the pain as she raises an arm to block his fist.

 

But fighting back against Jimmy makes things worse, and she grows wild and desperate, until one of her punches lands ineffectively on the left side of his chest – and she feels the ice magic strike him in the heart.

 

She has read about this in her family’s book, has had nightmares about the curse, the death she could bring about by simple accident. There are no trolls in this universe that any of her father’s ancestors had found. There is no simple solution or ally they can turn to, to fix a mistake like this. And, subconsciously if not consciously, she knows that Jimmy does not have within him an act of true, unselfish love.

 

Rose freezes in panic, and sheer terror at the realization of what she has done.

 

The next blow of his fist knocks her head against the corner of a table (where are the police? Surely someone has called them by now) and before she can gather her wits and swipe away the blood, he kicks her hard enough to crack a rib. She curls up and covers her head as he continues to kick her, bones snapping, blood staining the floor, and her voice muffled as she screams.

 

It seems an eternity before he pauses, panting. “You…bitch… _freak_ …. What…the fuck did you…do?”

 

Rose turns her head, catches a glimpse of his body in the light from the street, and cannot quite keep her mouth from gaping. The magic has progressed much faster than the book had led her to believe (because of her power? Circumstances? The state of Jimmy’s heart, which is shriveled and cold to begin with?) Frost has crept up over his skin, and already his fingers and lower legs are ice.

 

Jimmy starts for her again, and she can see in his eyes that he means to kill her.

 

Desperation lends Rose strength, and she ignores the screaming pain in her body as she kicks out at him. He topples, unbalanced, and when he hits the floor he shatters into a million pieces of ice.

 

_Brittle_ , she thinks deliriously. _And weak. Not like the unnaturally solid statue the book described_.

 

Rose lets the darkness take her.

 

 

She spends weeks recovering in the hospital. Her mum, Mickey, and Shireen are her most regular visitors until she is well enough to make it home to her mother’s apartment.

 

The police tell Rose and Jackie that Jimmy has done a runner. They’re out looking, but no clues yet.

 

Rose is silent and pale, dazed, while her mother deals with policemen, voice strident and infuriated at the lack of progress (her daughter was almost killed, what do they mean no sign of the good-for-nothing bastard). When things quiet down, when she can hardly close her eyes without replaying that night, and yet cannot keep herself awake, she tells her mum (that she is a murderer).

 

Jackie holds her through the night, soothes her and reassures her (“That wasn’t your fault, sweetheart. If you hadn’t’ve fought back, you’d be the one dead. Self-defense; it ain’t you should be the one punished, and don’t you forget it”).

 

Over the next few years, Rose slowly and painfully builds herself back up, struggles to regain her confidence. She locks her magic away, tighter than ever. Dates Mickey (who is safe, and comfortable, and won’t ever hurt her like…). Finds a job at Henrik’s.

 

Convinces herself that she can be content like this, with this life, for the rest of hers.

 

And then she meets the Doctor.


	2. Lost Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your suggestions! Some of them were really good, but I think I’ve decided to go with my original idea. However, I am still very willing and interested to hear more of your suggestions for how the Doctor finds out about Rose’s secret, and what his reaction would be. And, I have a surprise, extra chapter planned that you may find interesting. Once I manage to get there, though, as I had planned for three chapters originally, and it looks to have grown to about five right now.

_Cut through the heart, cold and clear!  
_ _Strike for love and strike for fear!  
_ _There’s beauty and there’s danger here  
_ _Split the ice apart!  
_ _Beware the frozen heart_  
\- Frozen, “Frozen Heart”

 

 

Fear will be your greatest enemy.

 

This is written in her family book, one phrase that sticks in her mind (along with ‘an act of true, unselfish love’). It is important to remember, even if it takes her some time to understand the meaning. When Rose is a child, she thinks it means other people’s fear of her, of what she can do, and she has learned about the witch hunts in school. That is why they keep it secret.

 

As she grows older she realizes that this can mean herself. That her magic can escape her if she lets fear rule. That she can lose control, expose herself, hurt others.

 

She grows up and realizes that it means all these things and more. That it applies to more than just herself, more than just the people in her family who are born with ice in their veins.

 

It is not fear that wrecks havoc on her control, however, but succumbing to her insecurities and lack of self-worth. Jimmy left his mark, and though she herself resists the thought of having been traumatized, Rose suspects that her magic might have been. For weeks after being released from the hospital and her haze of numbness and drugs, she had not been able to leave the apartment for the frost that followed her, and the ice and snow that escaped her. Only when she had built herself back up to a semblance of normality and confidence with bravado and sheer stubbornness had she regained some measure of control.

 

In fact, since meeting the Doctor, Rose discovers that when she is afraid, when she is placed in a life-or-death situation, things become clearer. After the first burst of panic, she calms and begins to think, to act, and react. Her control over herself is solid, and extends to her effortless restraint of her magic. There is no threat that her magic will react without her consent, and she is relieved that keeping her secret will not become any more difficult than usual. Particularly since the Doctor is so observant, in addition to his genius and greater number of senses than humans will ever develop.

 

Honestly, even having only begun to travel through time and space, she is a little troubled at how often self-preservation takes a back seat to keeping her secret. The power of a lifetime of fear, or habit, she supposes, but it has protected her from any who might try to snatch and dissect her. And she hasn’t died yet, after all.

 

In any case, there are few instances in which her ability would have given her a significant advantage, or defense. Rose’s very first adventure, after all, would have pitted her ice against the sun. There is no competition there. And the metal of the sealed door would never have yielded either. Simple steel was difficult enough, the bare handful of times she tried when she was younger, and even iron, which would become brittle, requires a great deal of effort. But the metal of doors meant to withstand the vacuum of space, the unknown (to her) alloys of advanced civilizations. They do not have weaknesses that she can exploit (though over time, a thought flickers despite her efforts to lock it away, that the Doctor’s screwdriver opens all doors but wood, and wood is no match for her ice).

 

When Rose returns home a year late, the guilt is like a blow to the stomach, and a creeping, living thing (she cannot blame the Doctor, not really, for his honest mistake, and there is nothing to be done to make it better). Because she knows exactly what her mother thought had happened, that her greatest fear seemed to have been realized (the government, the Institute, all over again, just like Rose’s ancestor). She knows that her mother bullied the police with little real hope of ever seeing her daughter again, because the police are part of the government.

 

But still, Rose cannot stay. She has glimpsed the size of the universe, the wonders and the horrors, and she cannot return voluntarily to her cage. The only consolation she can offer her mother is that she will be far out of reach of any possible experimentation by the British government (and does not reveal just how dangerous life with the Doctor can be, although the Downing Street incident is certainly a good indication). Rose promises to phone and visit, and that is the best she can offer her mum and Mickey. She also promises her mum that she will be careful, that she has hidden her abilities all of her life, and she will not become lazy now.

 

It is both difficult and simple to hide part of herself from the Time Lord. He can be remarkably intelligent and observant, and yet spectacularly dense at times (the London Eye, for example).

 

He complains of the peroxide used to bleach her hair, strong to his sensitive nose, and takes her to the 32nd century, where swallowing a simple capsule will give her the color she desires for a month. She speaks with the pharmacist about a custom design while he wanders off, making a face and muttering about domestics. When she comes out, stocked up with two years worth of pills, and her hair blonde, but retaining its dark roots, eyebrows, and eyelashes, he raises an eyebrow but does not comment. He convinces himself that he is not curious about why she would keep what seems to be a somewhat sloppy dye job, and is instead grateful that harsh chemicals do not interfere with her natural scent.

 

For her part, Rose is pleased. While she has become accustomed over the years to religiously keeping her nearly white hair from peeking through the hair dyes, and carefully coloring her eyebrows, it is a considerable relief not to worry about it while travelling, never mind the potential damage to her hair years of peroxide use can cause. She keeps the seemingly dark roots, and still cakes on the mascara because she feels safer with the disguise. She prefers to be thought of as a natural brunette, as far from her natural color as possible.

 

The TARDIS helps as well. It takes time for Rose to understand just how alive and aware the ship is. She panics when the Doctor first tells her how the TARDIS can get into her head; it is not just the violation of someone or something able to root around in her mind and change it, it is also that she is an extremely private person. She has a secret she has hidden her entire life, and the thought that someone can simply pluck it out of her head is terrifying.

 

Later, after Platform One, she asks the Doctor about telepathy, and after his explanation he shows her how the books in the library are organized, as well as how to use the TARDIS database to look up information. She is relieved that telepathy powerful enough to break through the natural shields she would have built up subconsciously to hide her secret is extremely rare. Over time, he helps her to set up some simple mental shields, and she is content for the most part with that protection.

 

Over time, as Rose studies the Doctor’s interaction with his ship, as well as the TARDIS’s interaction with her, she begins to understand her feelings and personality, becoming aware of her true complexity. Rose learns how to open her mind enough to send feelings and images to the TARDIS, and learns the meanings in the changes and pitch of the ship’s humming. They bond, Rose feels. All girls together.

 

There is no place within the ship that the TARDIS is unaware of, and likely she has seen Rose’s unusual abilities within her mind, so Rose eventually becomes comfortable enough to do little magic tricks within the safety of her room once again. She keeps Rose’s secret from her pilot, and once even flashes her lights in warning before the Doctor bursts unceremoniously into her room, excited and almost manic at their current destination.

 

Until meeting the Doctor, Rose has never considered that she might descend from aliens. The generally accepted belief is that they came from another Earth, a parallel universe. For a time after he appears in her life, she wonders if her family comes from the stars instead.

 

She waits with bated breath, as the Doctor gives her a full medical checkup, as well as a few injections once she agrees to travel with him. But, to her relief, he finds nothing strange or unusual. The hospitals she visits never have, but his equipment is so much more advanced that she worries a little.

 

So perhaps this means that her family’s original assumption is correct. But that does not mean that there is not a people somewhere with abilities like hers. She must do research, but carefully. If she seems to be after specific information, specific answers, the Doctor will connect the dots easily, although what he might conclude Rose cannot guess.

 

She progresses slowly. They do not have a lot of down time, eager as always to find adventure. Even then, when she is not sleeping, Rose prefers to keep the Doctor company, comfortable with both conversation and silence. They complement each other well, and she does not think that anyone in her life has ever understood her the way he does.

 

And it is not as though she has a lot to go on. The most specific place-name she knows is Arendelle, and she cannot say whether that is a city, province, kingdom, or country, and what she does find in the TARDIS database does not match what is described in her family book. So, sometimes she asks about alien species that resemble (perhaps inspire?) creatures of fantasy – witches, for example, and trolls, among others. Rose does not have to feign an interest in the genre, and listens avidly as the Doctor lectures her on whatever comes to mind in response to her questions, devouring alien fairytales that he points out to her. Some of the stories soothe a part of her she did not realize remained braced for ridicule and rejection because while the winter witches of Earth are almost never good (the Snow Queen, and the White Witch, and yuki-onna), elsewhere in the universe they protect and defend.

 

Over time, after a number of false leads, Rose lets the matter drop. There are humanoid species that thrive in the cold, and a number of machines that can create winter weather on small and large scales, and even one species that can manipulate ice and snow in ways similar to her, so long as it is already present. But there is no account that she can find of anyone with abilities like hers. So she labels it magic, accepts that she is alone in it, and pushes the thoughts away, the same way she buries her magic within herself (her father tells her the stories first-hand while the world ends around them, imparts details that her mother has long forgotten, but while much of it is new, little is particularly helpful).

 

Rose runs and rests, laughs and cries, and above all, loves. She learns so much about the universe, about the Doctor, and even (perhaps especially) about herself.

 

Sometimes (rarely), the urge to let loose, to challenge herself as she had a handful of times in childhood, comes upon her. Sometimes, she just wants to _play_. To relax and let go, and not worry about her abilities, because they are wonderful (magical, fairytale).

 

Woman Wept is one of her very favorites, an absolutely gorgeous ice planet frozen in an instant. The Doctor takes her hand and shows her the wonders, supports her as she walks upon the waves. She grips his arm as he holds her close in an effort to combat the cold (never knowing that she is not as cold as she appears), and Rose turns her head into his leather jacket and for an instant allows herself to feel the burning (terrifying) overwhelming love she has for this alien (she has never been so frightened because, as she learned with Jimmy, when she loves she holds nothing of herself back, and why would the Time Lord ever love a dim, worthless dropout, a stupid ape like her?).

 

However, it is the winter festival of Yulaaniruv IV where the insistent urge to do something (reckless and fun) overcomes her better judgment. She, the Doctor, and Jack had spent the better part of the evening wandering the stalls, speaking with the people, and even ice skating. And then the Doctor, grinning manically, had shown her the field of ice sculptures. Her hands twitch, her soul itches with the need to create as she, with breathless awe, examines the works of art. It wouldn’t be fair to enter the competition, and she could hardly afford the questions or possible witnesses should anyone see what she would sculpt, or how.

 

But Rose _needs_ to do something. This is her element, and just once, she wants others to see that her abilities can be beautiful.

 

The Doctor agrees to stay until the next day, when the winner of the contest is announced. The TARDIS helps Rose to sneak away unnoticed in the dead of the night, and she finds her way back to a corner of the sculpture field, making very certain that no one is nearby and that the area is relatively hidden (the Doctor and Jack had told her enough about the society to know that recorded surveillance is beyond their current technological level, or she would never risk this). She bites her lip, almost bouncing with giddy excitement as adrenaline rushes through her body. She takes a deep breath, pictures what she wants the results to be…and begins.

 

A stomp of her foot, and a smooth sheet of ice spreads equidistance around her. Raising her hands, walls grow in fractal patterns from the edges, as the base rises several centimeters above the snow. One large rectangular hole serves as a door, while she allows the walls to grow organically around whatever fractal shapes would serve as windows (she has found that it is best to have a picture of the results she wants in mind, but to allow her magic to fill in the details as it wishes). One hand drops as Rose concentrates on one side of the building, and then the other as the roof comes together in points. Then she flings both hands out and spins, barely keeping a laugh of sheer delight from escaping her lips as a walkway extends from the walls about halfway up, and grows a banister for safety. And finally, with a twist of her wrist, and a furrow of concentration, stairs of ice circle the walls from the ground floor to the ledge.

 

Ducking a bit to get through the doorway, Rose turns and takes in her creation, bathed in moonlight. Carved anonymously and well past the contest deadline, but she did not do it for recognition or attention.

 

It is a palace of ice, the perfect size for the children of this planet to play in.

 

A thought strikes her, and she coats the floor with a blanket of snow before leaving. An ice floor is probably a bit too slick and hard for playing.

 

Rose half expects either the Doctor or Jack to be waiting up for her, suspicious and curious at her absence, but she makes her way to her bed without anyone the wiser to her little escapade.

 

Of course, the next day they are running for their lives from some monstrous, six-legged alien, and attempting to draw the creature away from the crowds at the festival grounds. She is a little disappointed that they never make it back to the ice sculpture field, but she hopes that the children enjoyed their miniature palace.

 

The next time she uses her magic on an adventure, she must force herself to overcome mental blocks and do what needs to be done (because what else can she do when Jack and the Doctor are about to die and she can help?). She and Jack need to destroy a control node on a spaceship to kick start the backup controls, or else it is going to violently impact with a nearby planet. The Doctor is on the other end of the ship desperately attempting to get the life support running before the remaining crew and passengers run out of air. The node’s delicate internal parts are protected by a nigh-indestructible metal, locked with deadlock seals, and they have about a two minutes before they enter the planet’s atmosphere.

 

Jack swears under his breath because he left his sonic blaster behind, and kicking the thing only causes immense pain. He shouts at her to see if she can find something to pry it open with, while he runs off to where he remembers seeing the mechanics closet nearby.

 

Rose wastes time looking around the room frantically as she tries to find another option. But there is nothing for it, and she leaps for the node, slapping a hand down on top of its metal surface and forcing a truly great amount of frost and ice beneath to its vulnerable innards. She hears the cracking as (what she assumes are) gears attempt to resist, to continue their function. And then she screams and stumbles back as the node itself explodes, shrapnel and fire marking her hands and arms.

 

Jack comes racing back with an axe in hand, which he drops immediately when he sees her. His curiosity regarding how she’d done it takes a back seat to his concern at her injuries, and by the time they return to the TARDIS, exhausted, heart-sore, and triumphant, he forgets to ask.

 

Despite the heartache and danger, Rose loves this life, loves Jack, and (she can at last admit to herself) she is deeply in love with the Doctor. Once, she even considers allowing the Doctor to know her secret. She does not think that she can bring herself to say it outright, having never in her life told another soul, but she wonders if she could, perhaps, simply show him. Allow him to witness her magic, and call it a confession. She thinks she could answer his questions. She feels protected in his presence, and perhaps that would be enough to overcome a lifetime of conditioned fear and allow her to speak of her one great secret.

 

But the fear still seizes her, and she flinches away from this thought.

 

And then Bad Wolf happens, and everything changes. Jack is gone, and the Doctor is (isn’t?) gone (who is this young, skinny man?), and her already battered heart threatens to shatter completely (why had he left her, why hadn’t he told her?).

 

In the week that follows (they leave after New Year’s Day), Rose and the Doctor tentatively orbit the other, searching for their former camaraderie. By the time they New Earth and Cassandra occur (and she has never been so grateful for the natural shields that bury her secret beyond the ‘last human’s’ reach), Rose is comfortable with him once again. It is ridiculous, really (and still terrifying), that it takes so little time to fall in love with this new new Doctor. But she sees him, now, who he is at the core of him, independent of appearances and quirks.

 

She knows some of his past, too, continues her attempts to get him to open up to her, because she wants to know him and she thinks that speaking of it will help him. She does not pry too hard, because she does not wish to hurt him, nor to be hypocritical. After all, she has not told him everything either (he tells her that she became Bad Wolf, glowing golden and burning like the sun, and she finds it best that others associate her with heat and summer, although the aurora borealis equivalents on other planets often glow gold, and frost is known to burn).

 

Rose thinks she knows him now.

 

And then they meet Sarah Jane Smith.

 

The shock is not that he has had companions before her, not really. After all, his past self had hinted at the fact that he had travelled with others. She is not so naïve as to believe she has been the first in over 900 years, although admittedly she had not given it much thought. No, it is the way in which the Doctor had left Sarah Jane, had cared so much and yet never spoke of her.

 

Rose hates to admit her jealousy, too, of the way he abandons her to sit with the older woman, compounded by the barbs she cannot help but retaliate against. Mickey does not help, and when they spend the night at Sarah Jane’s, away from the threat that inhabits the school, it takes more willpower than she thinks it should to refrain from loosing a killing frost in her garden (because insecurities disrupt her control). She hates to admit that she can be petty, but she is _never_ petty with her magic.

 

She likes Sarah Jane, when all is said and done, but her confidence in her relationship with the Doctor (and her confidence in herself) is shaken.

 

Their next adventure, with Mickey and Madame de Pompadour, is a heartbreaking blow. She understands why he must go through the mirrors (all of history is at stake, and she would never put her own life above the good of the universe), but they are a team and should have gone together. Or he could have flown the TARDIS through the window, or programmed her to meet him after he stops the clockwork men. And those are just the ideas that spring to mind immediately; with his far greater genius, surely he could have thought of something?

 

But he crows with pride and delight at snogging Madame de Pompadour, allows her into his _mind_ , dances with her while she and Mickey are captured by the clockwork men (her greatest nightmare come to life, strapped to a dissection table, but she scrambles desperately for her magic as the saw closes in on Mickey, and at least she knows that ice will stop them if only she could get past her terror and make it _work_ ), and invites her along without question or warning (and Rose feels ashamed at that thought, because it is the Doctor’s ship and his decision, not hers).

 

Rose spends those five and a half hours in a state of numbness, but even that is completely lost when he practically ignores her and returns immediately for the most accomplished woman in Earth history. She holds on – barely – to her control when he comes back from his last visit appearing heartbroken. But then she asks if he is alright, and when he says that he is “always alright” (shutting her out), the numbness is gone.

 

Rose spirals into feelings of inferiority, every one of her insecurities rearing its ugly head, and she tenses every muscle as if physical restraint will hold back her magic. She hugs herself tightly, hiding her hands because she can feel the frost seeping into whatever her hands rest against. She cannot stay, cannot coax any sort of honest response from the Doctor, because she is losing control.

 

“I’m gonna get some rest. See you later, yeah?” she says, concentrating on breathing evenly, speaking evenly.

 

The Doctor does not respond (another crack to her heart and her control), but Mickey meets her eyes and nods. “Sure babe.” He remembers how she had sequestered herself away after Jimmy, how there were days when her confidence (bravado) faltered and she had rushed home and away from other people.

 

The corridors shift, hiding her almost immediately from the console room, and the TARDIS puts an unfamiliar door in her path. It is a place for her to let loose, Rose understands. She understands the ship so much better since Bad Wolf.

 

“I won’t hurt you?” she whispers, one hand already on the doorknob, which immediately grows white with frost.

 

The TARDIS’s presence in her mind is reassuring and somewhat amused at the thought that this small, flesh and blood being who could perceive in only three dimensions would be able to generate enough ice and snow to seriously harm her.

 

Rose’s mouth twitches as she attempts, and fails, to produce a smile. “Right.” She clenches her hand around the doorknob and turns it, entering a large, cavernous room, with a small fountain at the far end, and water trickling down on wall. Her hands open and close as she makes her way to the center of the room, the door disappearing from the wall behind her.

 

“Don’t let him find me,” she says.

 

The lights flicker in acknowledgement, a wave of warmth and love washing over her.

 

Something in her chest snaps, and she bows under the pain of her emotions. A blizzard explodes from her, whipping her clothes around her, and snapping her hair against her face. The floor and walls are immediately coated in sheets of ice, mounds of snow piled at least a meter deep in places, snowflakes and bits of ice flying through the air.

 

Rose barely notices. She is nothing. She will never amount to anything, and what is she playing at, believing that she could do something, be better, make a difference? Why did she believe him when he said that he would never leave her behind, that she was different? She’s stupid, always has been, just a stupid ape, stupid child, worthless girl. Good for a fuck, maybe, but not even that satisfying, or Jimmy wouldn’t have had to find those other girls, and _it’s not my fault Rose, maybe lay off the junk food and try a little harder next time, yeah? Put your mouth to better use. And stop being so clumsy while you’re at it, God, what are you, stupid or something?_

 

And then the rage breaks over her for a moment, because the Doctor isn’t supposed to be like that, is supposed to be better than that. She swipes her arms viciously through the air, and painful, vicious spikes of ice leap into existence.

 

But the anger is difficult to hold onto, returning only in short spurts, any semblance of self-confidence or self-worth gone so quickly.

 

She loses track of time. When the TARDIS warns her of the Doctor’s approach, she is laying on her back, spread-eagled in the snow with her short-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. Rose is lethargic, completely spent, and control over her magic has been reasserted.

 

She was a fool to think that he might love her in return.

 

She stares blankly at the sharp points and flat edges of the icicles that hang from the ceiling like stalactites. Love melts her snow; before, on those few occasions she had been warned of his coming interruption, she had simply thought of the Doctor and been rid of the evidence before he caught her. That will not work this time.

 

But the ship is a place of wonders, and not even the Doctor knows every room. “Let him find me,” Rose murmurs at last.

 

A few minutes later she hears the door open, but does not bother to move.

 

“There you are” he says. “Been wondering where you’d gotten to. Blimey. I’ve never seen this room before. Be good for a snowball fight, it would, maybe even sledding or, oohh, snowcastles! Like sandcastles, only bigger and better. Where’ve you been hiding it, Old Girl? Rose, you must be freezing! Come on, fragile human bodies should be far more covered if they’re going to go traipsing through this sort of arctic tundra.”

 

He extends a hand, and shifts nervously when she does not immediately reach for him. At last, Rose allows him to pull her to her feet and over to the door, helpfully brushing snow from her back.

 

“Here we go,” he says once they are out in the corridor. “Nice and warm, much better for humans in thin and short-sleeved clothing.” He beams, but his smile falters and his hearts clench. Because Rose’s answering smile is small and false, and her eyes are guarded, shuttered where before they had been open and honest and held nothing back.

 

“Rose.” The Doctor reaches for her, knowing that he has badly messed up, but having no idea how to fix things. A part of his mind desperately justifies his actions to himself, but it hardly helps.

 

“You’re right,” Rose says, and there is false happiness in her voice as she keeps her distance. “I’d best go take a hot shower before I catch a cold or something. I’ll see you later.”

 

The Doctor’s hand is still partly extended to her. He watches her go, mouth partly opened, but no idea what to say or how to make it better. He broke something, he knows it, and already he wants it back desperately. Misses her (is terrified that he has lost her, that he has pushed her away too far, beyond what he meant to do).

 

Rose does not turn around.


	3. Bad Wolf Girl

_Whether he loved her or not didn't change how she felt about him. She loved him independent and regardless of whether he loved her._

\- Sarah Beth Durst, _Ice_

 

 

Rose builds a wall of ice around her heart.

 

It is more mental than magical (because even if her magic could affect her like that, she is not suicidal or stupid enough to attempt it), but it is strong all the same. When her thoughts, her secrets, her very being is of ice, then it does not take much effort to become frozen.

 

Or, it should not. The pain is very persistent.

 

The Doctor tries to show her that he is sorry (does he even know why?), though he does not say it. He tries to take her to resort planets, and peaceful planets, with beaches and bright, warm colors, and even the dogs with no noses that they never managed to see. They run for their lives, too, and as Rose grows cold, Mickey grows stronger.

 

The Doctor should be proud of the boy (Rose is, when she notices, and she is sorry that he is caught up in their tension, because he deserves so much better), and he is. But Mickey also interferes with their currently precarious relationship, and the Doctor sometimes wishes that he had never come aboard. Things with Rose are complicated enough already, without her ex-boyfriend there to distract her, and take up her attention, and act as though he knew her better than the Doctor. He had wanted a buffer, and regrets it now that he has one.

 

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, if Rose would only stop avoiding him, would take his hand again. His hearts ache, his throat clenches, and his hand feels empty without hers. She no longer reaches for him, and when he tries, she jerks her hand away, and his hope with it (because she always pauses, relaxes, before flinching away, as if she has forgotten that she does not wish to hold his hand, and it raises his hopes before crushing them).

 

Rose does not do this to hurt him, although there is a small, shameful part of her that is satisfied when it happens. That thinks he deserves to hurt because he hurt her. The greater part of her is horrified by this thought; he has endured unimaginable pain and loss in his long life, and she wants him to find happiness. Even if it is not with her. She has no claim on the Doctor, not like that. She has no right to act as though he is hers, no right to act like a jilted lover or jealous girlfriend, because they aren’t like that. She knows this, she has told others this, and yet at the first sign of his interest in another… Well, this is all on her, and she shouldn’t punish the Doctor for it. She just needs time, that’s all.

 

She wishes she could say that this distance she enforces by not taking his hand will be good for them. It will give her heart rest, allow her to once again recognize the line that she should not cross, and keep her from making the Doctor feel awkward or uncomfortable. But that is merely a side effect of sorts, not the reason.

 

She cannot hold his hand because when she least expects it, her touch still brings a light frost. Rose has not been so out of control since she was a child. She does not remember being this out of control, even as a child. He would never be able to overlook it, and her secret would be exposed to him, might even hurt him

 

The thought of him discovering her abilities now makes her cringe. The feelings of unworthiness linger, because next to a woman like Reinette, how could she ever compare? Rose tries to console herself that she is not so far below the woman, that she too is descended from royalty, but that has always been difficult to believe. That she descends from the queen of what is essentially an imaginary country, when she grew up on an Estate with only her mother to raise her, and always struggling to pay the bills besides. Rose had known less than nothing about any courtly etiquette (until she began travelling with the Doctor) and had hardly cared because it hadn’t mattered. It shouldn’t matter now, but the part of her that Jimmy nurtured cannot help but pick at anything that might be wrong with her. That part cannot leave it alone.

 

Reinette, the uncrowned queen of France, and she, just another chav off the Estates, and a freak besides.

 

“Stop it,” Rose whispers to herself, eyes squeezed shut and hands clenched into fists as she attempts to summon her bravado. The TARDIS hums in encouragement and sympathy. She tries to summon up memories of her first Doctor (who never would have abandoned her), of the times her actions had saved a life, or helped save a world. She focuses on the many friends she has made, the words of kindness, her mum’s love, and Mickey’s constant, steady presence.

 

The TARDIS floods her mind with warmth, and for a time Rose feels more herself – the self she had become pre-Revolutionary France.

 

But it is not until the ice planet, Eorsin, that things begin to return to normal.

 

 

Rose claws her way to wakefulness, groaning at the annoying buzzing sound. She is not, and never has been, a morning person, and all she wants is to succumb to the wave of exhaustion that threatens to swamp her. But something other than the noise (and now that she thinks about it, it sounds more like a howl than a buzz) has her forcing her eyes open instead of falling back to sleep.

 

She squints and blinks rapidly, but dark spots continue to hover at the edges of her vision, and all she can make out is a fluffy, dizzying blur of white. Something about this… There’s something… She needs a nap, so that she can think clearly. What was she doing before she went to bed?

 

Rose frowns, flinching as she feels small, soft bits of something lightly hit her face. She has been feeling that for a while, she realizes. Is she moving? Beyond the spinning of the world, her body is…is…

 

Shaking.

 

Is this a seizure? She has never had one before and panics for a moment, the surge of adrenaline slicing through the aftereffects of the drugs she had been dosed with. Her limbs are weak and wobbly, and she almost pitches right over as soon as she shoots into a sitting position. She holds out her arms and stares blankly for a long moment, before slumping in relief. It isn’t a seizure, she is just shivering from the cold. It is not an experience she is accustomed to.

 

Her eyesight and mind clearer, she looks around. Snow and ice as far as she can see, which isn’t far as she appears to be in the middle of a blizzard. The howling of the wind is what had roused her. And her without even a jacket, she notes, looking down at herself. No wonder she is shivering; not even she can be unaffected in these temperatures, and she does not think she has ever been so thankful for her magic.

 

“Right,” she whispers to herself, wincing as she becomes aware of a headache. The gale snatches her voice away. “What happened?”

 

Ice planet. The Doctor, Mickey, and herself had ended up in a surprisingly populated metropolis enclosed within a sort of bubble to protect it from the climate. She and Mickey had made a trip back into the wardrobe room for special snow jackets, trousers, and boots designed to conserve maximum body heat with minimal waste of energy. Or something. The Doctor had lectured at great length and many tangents, with brief mention of how the weather outside the enclosed city would kill a human within 10 minutes, and that guess was optimistic. The natives themselves – pale blue with white patterns, bipedal, and stolidly built, with short dense fur all over their bodies – need advanced preparations and planning if they wish to survive the outside.

 

Of course the group of travelers arrive in a time of potential political upheaval. Dissenters and revolutionaries were attempting to cause a coup. Rumors of the planned assassination of the rightful ruler and his council had reached the Doctor fairly quickly, and in this case (after a bit of digging to support the Time Lord’s original thoughts) he and his companions were supporting the governing body. They were more benevolent than tyrannical, and it would be another century before things were supposed to take a turn for the worse.

 

Naturally, the Doctor had offered their services to discover the plot and round up the mercenaries. And, naturally, things had gone wrong.

 

Rose does not remember anything after entering her assigned room for the night. Obviously, the mercenaries had drugged her and dumped her out here, assured of her near instant death. She is meant to be a warning, but really, they have sealed their fates. Mickey must be beside himself with fear and worry, but the Doctor will hunt them down with a single-minded determination backed by fury. He is a no second chances sort of man.

 

Rose scowls, and curses under her breath in irritation as she struggles to her feet. She knows that later, with more time for the situation to sink, she will be enraged with the mercenaries. Right now she is just too relieved that they have chosen perhaps the least effective way of killing her, ever.

 

She is so thankful that they did not do this to Mickey (if they had, he would be here, too, right? It would take too much work to separate the two of them, so he is safe for now).

 

Her shivering is becoming distracting now that she is more aware, but she has an idea. The storm is too thick for anyone to spy on her in the unlikely event that anyone would be watching this area of tundra. So she bends over a little, coaxing her magic up from her feet, straightening as it creeps to her torso, and then flourishes her arms in the air above her head. Already she feels warmer, and she looks down to take in what her powers have wrought.

 

Rose’s clothes are a shimmering, icy blue now, a color she has come to think of as her own despite displaying to the world a penchant for pink. Her somewhat baggy jeans and long-sleeved shirt look more like silk now, and fit tighter to her skin. Her sleeves extend further, stopping about halfway down her palm, each with a hole for her thumb. A shawl, sheer and studded with what look like tiny snowflakes, is draped across her shoulders.

 

Long ago she had discovered that her powers are limited when it comes to natural ice and snow. That is, she can manipulate it to a certain extent, but never as completely as the winter she creates herself. For example, no matter how she tries, she will never be able to thaw with her magic any ice that she has not created.

 

Else she would be tempted to halt this blizzard in its tracks and melt herself a way back to the city.

 

Rose sighs and pushes away useless thoughts. With clothing taken care of, she must turn to shelter, and then food. Water will be no problem.

 

Her first thought is to create a full-scale palace, or at least a tower so that she can see far enough that she might spot the city. Even if she cannot find it, any rescue party would be able to see the structure and head straight for her.

 

Unfortunately, so would the mercenaries, and they would know where they had left her. Rose is unlikely to be so lucky if they catch her a second time. Chances are they would kill her before the Doctor could rescue her. In any case, there is no plausible explanation for an ice structure of that size appearing overnight.

 

An igloo it is, and here is as good a place as any.

 

She stomps a foot, sinking the base into the snow bank, and arches an arm through the air to guide the dome of ice. Finally, she gestures with a flick of her wrist, and the blizzard concentrates its efforts on her igloo. In no time, it is yet another indistinguishable lump in the landscape, and Rose has enough energy to pack the snow tight upon the icy frame.

 

Then she staggers inside the tiny room and curls up to sleep off the drug’s aftereffects on a scattered layer of snow. A steady puff of air, and the shawl is large enough to use as a blanket.

 

When she wakes, the storm has blown itself out, and she scrambles outside hoping for some sort of direction. Rose squints at the horizon, turns in a circle, and has no idea where to even begin. And the mercenaries likely had at least one ally among the gatekeepers, so chances are she’ll be caught again before she gets past the dome, much less reaches Mickey and the Doctor. It is rather difficult to sneak and hide among a completely different species.

 

So, it might be better to stay put. The Doctor could find her life signs if he scans the area (assuming it occurs to him). He shouldn’t have too large an area to scan; she doubts that she is more than a few hours from the city by sled, or whatever they call their transport. If she picks a direction and walks, chances are she will be heading away from the city, and it would take longer for the Doctor to find her. As she has no food, she prefers to be rescued as soon as possible.

 

She considers creating a rail of ice to mark her trail so that she could explore and still return to her igloo. But what if someone happens upon it? It could be either good or bad, but either way there is no good explanation for the structure. And anyway, should anyone see her wandering in the open air instead of huddling in an enclosed space for warmth, they would certainly know that her survival is impossible.

 

What she needs is someone or something that can explore for her, and the thought of creating and animating an ice carving or snowman strikes her out of nowhere. But it would be useless without independence or a sort of sentience, and Rose does not know if that is possible for her to do. There are vague references in her family book, but no details, nothing definitive that says _yes, this is possible_ , or _no, you cannot_. She had animated her tiny ice sculptures as a child, but they had been more like windup toys than independent creatures.

 

But she is more powerful now. There is nothing to lose by trying.

 

Rose closes her eyes in concentration and holds out a hand, twirling it slowly. Her brow furrows, and she pictures the creature that comes immediately to mind. It is a shape that feels most natural, and would move well in this climate. Her eyes open, and she takes in the pure, white snow of its fur, the sharp teeth and claws belying the solid ice beneath.

 

A wolf stands before her.

 

Either she is far more familiar with wolf anatomy than she realizes, or something else had left an imprint. Because its proportions, its joints and lines are all clean and correct as far as she can tell. But she cannot think about that now.

 

“Do you…understand me?” Rose asks hesitantly. Perhaps she should have tried for a shape that could speak, but… No. This is right. She can feel the rightness, although she does not know why.

 

Her (she does not know how she knows, but it is a female) ears prick up, and her tail wags slowly.

 

“I’ll call you Loupa,” Rose decides, and the wolf’s tail wags harder. “Loupa, I need you to scout around my camp, and see if you can find the city. Come back by dark, if you can, though. We’ve got a few days before things get dire, and you can try a different direction each day, I guess.” Rose does not want to be by herself, alone in the dark wilderness of an alien planet. The company would be welcome, and this way she can be certain that her friend has not been lost or destroyed.

 

Loupa gives a little yip of acknowledgement (startling Rose, who had not been sure an ice creation could make a sound) and darts off.

 

She spends the rest of her day near her little igloo feeling restless and bored. There is no sign of anyone, and she wonders when the Doctor noticed she was missing (so much for five and a half hours).

 

She was not entirely sure she would see Loupa by nightfall, whatever she may have said, so she is pleasantly surprised with the wolf’s reappearance. Her companion curls up by the entrance to her hideaway, and Rose feels better for the protective company.

 

The next day is just as boring. The hours drag on slowly, and Rose’s thoughts about the Doctor’s competence become (a bit unfairly) uncharitable. The hunger makes things worse, and handfuls of snow do little to abate it.

 

Loupa rejoins her as darkness falls, and Rose talks to her about nothing until she falls asleep.

 

She snaps awake when the world ends. Or, it seems like it does. Howls and snarls are ringing in her ears, ice cracking not too far from where she lays. It is pitch black, and the snow presses in on her, suffocating her. She claws at it wildly, with no idea which way is up. It could be seconds or minutes before she breaks free, gasping in the clean, cold air.

 

Her eyes take a minute to adjust to the dim moonlight, and for a long moment all she can see is a whirl of pale violence only a few meters from where she lays. She squints as she staggers upright, and makes out Loupa’s smaller shape go tumbling away, yelping. The larger creature turns to her and growls, a sound that raises the hair on her arms. Clumsy with terror, Rose stumbles backwards and nearly falls.

 

Before it can take more than a couple of steps, Loupa returns in a blur of speed, launching herself at its throat. The ruff around its neck is too thick for her to tear at it properly, but she hangs on, stubbornly clawing away at its torso with her hind legs. Rose’s eyes have properly adjusted, and she can make out that the enormous creature resembles a slender polar bear; faster, more agile, and just as strong, with wide feet that help it move atop the snow, and a long tail like a whip.

 

The predator roars in anger and swats at Loupa, who lets go and weaves around it and out of reach before it can hit her. She is not quite fast enough, however, and the tail knocks her head over feet, one of its hind paws clipping her tail. She yelps as it shatters, and when she stands Rose can tell that her sense of balance is off.

 

She tries, though, so hard when the bear-creature comes at Rose with amazing speed. Her heart aches at her new companion’s determination to protect her, wobbling as she runs for the enemy. But the creature is nearly upon her, and Rose can no longer spare a thought for anything but herself. She cannot outrun it, and so she braces herself and thrusts forward with her hands. It crashes into thick cylinders of ice, and roars in pain as the ice shatters, slowing it down momentarily. It is enough for Loupa to latch onto the base of its tail-whip, ignoring its sting as she bites down until it comes away in her mouth.

 

The beast screams, and strikes the wolf hard enough that Rose fears that her head is shattered. And then it turns and pounces at Rose, who shrieks and throws her hands up in futile protection. Spikes of ice leap from the snow, deadly sharp at the tip, and much thicker at the base than the cylinders had been. It makes a terrible noise, impaled in so many places, and pools of blood stain the snow as it thrashes in its death throes.

 

Rose feels a little sick, almost hypnotized by the sight until a nudging at her hand jolts her into awareness. She collapses to her knees and holds Loupa’s head gently between her hands. “Are you alright?” she asks shakily, examining her in earnest. A flicker of gold catches her attention, so incongruous against the pale blue and white colors that dominate the landscape. She frowns and looks closer. Pale gold flickers again in Loupa’s eyes, and Rose sucks in a breath. Because it is so dark, because she looks so closely, she can see. Traces of the time vortex swirl within Loupa’s eyes, and how Rose can even recognize it is a mystery, but there is an echo of an echo of a song in the back of her head, and there is something she has forgotten…

 

Her wolf friend nudges her, and she shakes her head. She’ll think about it later. Right now, they need to get away before the blood drew other predators and scavengers.

 

Rose fixes Loupa’s injuries, and then regards the dead alien-bear uncertainly. She is hungry, and it might be a good source of food. But it might also poison her. The Doctor isn’t around to tell her which alien foods are deadly to humans, and even if she did decide to chance it, how would she cook it? There is no wood anywhere nearby, and she has nothing on her to start a fire with. Sometimes she thinks the magic of another element would be far more useful. Fire, for example (but then she pictures losing control, sees the Powell Estates as a towering inferno, and is glad her ability is rather more harmless).

 

As she follows Loupa in a direction that has not yet been explored, Rose wonders if there are other elemental magics in the universe from which hers descends. Are there people with fire in their soul, or earth in their bones? But it is only idle speculation, and hardly important or relevant.

 

She and Loupa walk for a few hours before Rose sets up another hidden igloo. She curls up and sleeps the rest of the night, and wakes up alone, long past sunrise and bracing herself for another day of boredom.

 

It is near evening, at least as far as Rose can tell, when the Doctor finds her. Two of the natives are accompanying him (Mickey scours the city grudgingly, since he will not survive long outside of it), and the moment the sled nears her he stumbles from it.

 

“ _Rose_.” His voice is strangled, and he embraces her. His arms are like iron bars as he holds her to him. “Rose.”

 

She hugs him back; he is obviously shaken, and he seems about to fly apart at the seams.

 

“You’re alright,” he is saying, over and over again. “You’re alright, you’re safe, you’re safe.”

 

Rose realizes just how terrified he has been. She knows him so well, still. It is a bone-deep sort of fear, and when she makes to lean back, he tightens his hold on her almost to the point of pain, and muffles a cry of anguish. She softens to him, relaxes against his body and strokes the base of his neck soothingly. “I’m here,” she murmurs. “I’m here. Not gonna leave you.”

 

Perhaps it is wrong, but his sheer terror at the thought of her death goes a long way toward soothing her broken heart. The Doctor may not love her, but he cares deeply for her. They are still the best of friends. That is enough. That will have to be enough.

 

She feels more like herself than she has in quite a while.

 

At last he releases her, though he clings to her hand as he helps her into the spare snow jacket, trousers, and blanket he brought for her. He examines her closely, eyebrows drawn together and free hand tugging on an ear. Now that he has calmed down, he notices all the little things that do not add up. Namely, that she seems only a little chilled in weather that should have killed her.

 

“Rose, how are you still alive? Not to say that I’m not pleased or am somehow disappointed at the fact, not at all! In fact, I am the very opposite of disappointed, and of course, Mickey will be too! Mr. Mick-Mickety-Mickey couldn’t come, so he’s been scouring the city looking for you or your captors. Welll, I say scouring, more like – ”

 

He cuts himself off when he notices Rose’s distraction, and turns to follow her gaze. “Oohh, what is that?” the Doctor breathes when he sees Loupa. He tugs Rose along as he makes his way to the ice wolf, who watches the proceedings warily. “You’re beautiful,” he says as he takes his spectacles from his pocket. “But not native to this planet. Closely resembling the _canis lupus_ , but the make-up of your fur is…” He muttered to himself in a broken string of techno babble, and reached out as if to take a sample of Loupa for study.

 

Rose jerked him back, and snapped a bit shrilly, “She is _not_ a science experiment, Doctor. She protected me and saved my life. Leave her alone.” She does not mean to sound so harsh, but she is sensitive about being turned into a lab rat herself. Loupa, in particular, is a bit of a sore spot in this regard. Also, she does not want him looking close enough to see the vortex in Loupa’s eyes. There is no explanation for that.

 

The Doctor flinches, unable to hide the pang of hurt at her accusation. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he says quietly.

 

Rose sighs. “I know. I’m sorry. ‘M just hungry and irritable right now, is all.”

 

His eyes widen. “Oh, of course. We brought food and hot tea – well, a tea-like drink, anyway – and we need to get you warmed up and checked out.” He tugs her back toward the sled, but she stops him.

 

“Can I have a minute to say goodbye to Loupa?” she asks.

 

“Loupa?”

 

Rose flushes. “It’s what I named her. It didn’t feel right just calling her ‘wolf’ or something. And she did save my life.”

 

“Of course,” he says with a smile. “You’ll have to tell me about it.”

 

“I will,” she agrees. A highly-edited version of events, anyway.

 

The Doctor watches anxiously as she walks with Loupa down a gentle slope until they’re just out of sight. But he does not follow her, and Rose is grateful.

 

For a long moment the two, girl and wolf, just watch each other. It doesn’t feel right to Rose, to make her friend disappear. It is like killing her, and Rose doesn’t think she can do that. But she cannot leave her behind on this planet either. Loupa does not belong here, and certainly not if she contains some tiny part of the time vortex.

 

“Thank you,” Rose says.

 

Loupa pads close, and nudges her hand with her nose. She is telling Rose to do what she must. Saying in her own way that it is alright.

 

“Bye.” For a moment, a flurry of tiny snowflakes hold the shape of a wolf, before dissolving into the air. But, perhaps because she is more aware of it now, perhaps because a part of her had been missing it, Rose can feel that pale tendril of the time vortex return to her. There are none of Loupa’s memories, but there are impressions, echoing feelings of the past few days.

 

She bites her lip in thought as she returns to the Doctor’s side, his relief upon seeing her almost palpable. When they return to the TARDIS, she will have to do a thorough study of her medical information and DNA. She’ll need the TARDIS’ help to keep it secret and interpret her findings.

 

Before then, she fills in the Doctor on (some) of what had happened to her, reunites with Mickey, and helps to thwart the plot to overthrow the current government.

 

But the TARDIS, although she helps Rose through working the medical equipment and keeping it secret from the others on board, is remarkably silent on what her results mean. There are changes, Rose can infer that much, but the TARDIS obscures any hint of what they are. She leaves it alone finally, frustrated, but she trusts the ship. She will find out what is going on eventually.

 

 

Things between the Doctor and Rose return to the way they used to be. By the time they fall into the parallel world, they have regained their camaraderie. Which is good, because the events in that world leave Rose feeling raw.

 

Here is proof, at least, that it is possible that her ancestors were from another universe. She tries so hard to see if the same is true here (but what would it accomplish, really? it is unlikely he could tell her anything she has not already discovered), doing little things (like frosting champagne glasses) that could be dismissed unless her family’s secret existed here.

 

The alternate Pete does not notice. Rose watches closely, but little things, little hints and family stories elicit no reaction, other than confusion. Rose’s family secret does not exist here. Rose does not exist here. What does that mean?

 

What does it matter? Alternate Jackie has been cyberized, Rickey is dead, Pete wants nothing to do with here, and Mickey, who has always been there for her, is staying behind. Forever (and if alternate universes are closed, if it is impossible to travel between them, then how had Rose’s ancestors arrived in the original universe?).

 

The Doctor takes her to see her mother, and it is a relief to see her alive and well, to have someone who watched Mickey grow up grieve with her.

 

Rose mourns, and she lives, and over time she recovers. She and the Doctor travel together as always, righting wrongs and seeing the wonders and terrors of the universe.

 

And then the army of ghosts.

 

It takes Rose a stupidly long time after they land in Canary Wharf to realize why the name Torchwood sets off warning bells in her mind. But the talk of charters and alien technology, the ruthlessness of the employees and the British Empire finally has her making the connection (alien, Institute, the werewolf, Torchwood Manor, Queen Victoria). This is the Institute that captured and tortured her ancestor. Torchwood is the name her father warned her about on the day he died.

 

The terror almost chokes her. It is unlikely that they remember her ancestor or her abilities after such a long time, but she has spent her entire life afraid of this institution. And then there are Daleks and Cybermen, and Mickey is back, and her father, and fear for her mother in this mess somewhere. Everything is chaos and the entire world a battleground.

 

Her heart breaks when she tries to tell her mother to go with Pete, but all she wants is for her mother to be happy. She shouldn’t spend the rest of her life waiting for Rose, and now she has a chance at a wonderful life with an alternate version of the man she fell in love with.

 

When the Doctor tricks her into leaving, the fury is almost overwhelming. She will _not_ be sent away, like a child or an inferior. They are best mates, damn it, and she loves him, but she will not tolerate an unequal partnership. When this is over, she will have a long talk with him, and get the TARDIS on her side to help pin him down.

 

Until the lever announces that it is “offline”, Rose never doubts that they will both survive this.

 

But her life is nothing compared to the safety of the world. She catches the look of horror on the Doctor’s face, and it takes all of her strength to hold on as the Void tries to suck her in. But she isn’t strong enough, and her grip slipped early on so that she cannot regain it. Her fingers are in agony. She knows she is slipping, and still there are so many Cybermen and Daleks streaming by.

 

The Doctor is shouting, voice cracking with desperation, and that is what spurs her into action. Better to out herself to whatever Torchwood cameras are left in this room, than to fall into the Void. The chance of capture and torture is preferable to the certainty of death. All she must do is freeze her hands to the lever.

 

But every time she reaches inside herself for her magic, attempting to tease out a tendril of ice, her subconscious clamps down on it and she comes up with nothing. The more frightened she becomes, the less likely she is to use her abilities, and her three greatest fears (Torchwood, Cybermen, Daleks) are present all at once. Too much control, and yet no control at all. She can freeze nothing.

 

Rose looks at the Doctor one last time, sees the terror in his eyes as he begs her to hold on. He never begs, and yet he does so now. Eyes locked on his, her hands slip from the lever even as she tries one last time.

 

Her arms flail for something, anything, and the barest edge of her fingers touches cool metal, ice fusing her to the lip of the track that guides the lever. She screams, the pull on her body jerking her wrist at an awkward, painful angle, but she hangs on. The Doctor watches her, still shouting, relief and fear warring with one another. She brings her other hand to the metal edge and freezes it there as well. For several long moments she is safe, and laughs in giddy disbelief.

 

And then the metal jerks, and she is pulled a few centimeters closer to the Void. Her stomach lodges in her throat, as the metal ledge begins to peel away, unable to handle the force she is putting on it. She could send her ice into the entire machine for better purchase, but she does not dare. What if it destroys the machine? One life for the planet. That’s not too much to ask, she supposes.

 

If she gets out of this, she promises herself that she will study mechanical engineering. So far she has gotten by on brute force and luck, but knowledge and finesse might have saved her here, had she known.

 

Rose looks over at the Doctor once more as metal shrieks and twists. _I’m sorry_ , her eyes say, and it hurts her to see him in such agony.

 

And then she lets go.

 

The Doctor screams as she falls into the Void, reaching futilely for her hand. He contemplates simply letting go. Following her. A lifetime without her stretches before him, time slows, and he sees the timeline in which she dies here. The regret will almost kill him. The agony of lifetimes of what-ifs. He thought it would hurt less if he kept his distance from Rose, if he never crossed that one line. He thought he was protecting himself.

 

He wasn’t. This is worse, many times worse.

 

He almost doesn’t believe it when he sees the Void ripple. “Please,” the Doctor whispers. “Oh, please, just this once, anything, please.”

 

The Void closes.

 

Rose slams into the wall and crumples to the floor.

 

“Rose,” the Doctor almost sobs, scrambling to where she lies. “Rose, Rose, Rose.” It is all that he is capable of saying.

 

She is so still that for a moment he is afraid… But then she groans and stirs, and he helps her to sit upright. He barely pays attention to her pained expression, the stiff way in which she held her body. All that matters is that she is alive, and here, with him. In spite of everything, she chose him. In spite of everything, she lives.

 

He kneels, one knee on the outside of her thigh, the other between her legs, and hugs her tightly, face buried in the crook of her shoulder. He can feel himself shaking, and he is still chanting her name, and he doesn’t care. Rose is here.

 

When at last he manages to lean back a little, he cups her face and says reverently, “Rose Tyler.” And then he kisses her.

 

He plunders her mouth, tongue slipping between her lips to explore every dip and crevice. Pride surges through him when she whimpers, and her uninjured hand rakes through his hair. She tastes clean and refreshing, like winter and something that is just Rose.

 

“Rose Tyler,” he murmurs again, when he breaks the kiss to allow her to breath.

 

“Doctor,” she pants with a faint smile. “I love you, too.”


	4. Precious Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for reading this fic so far. I really struggled to think of how to end this, and while it might not be the greatest ever, I do hope it’s satisfactory. For those of you who are interested, between the suggestions I’ve received regarding how the Doctor finds out about Rose’s magic, and the ideas I’ve had after all this time thinking about it, I thought it was a shame that I could only choose one. So, I have an extra chapter in the works titled “8 Times the Doctor Could Have Discovered Rose’s Secret”, most of which take place during, or in the after math of, an actual episode.

_Here I'll stand, and here I'll stay.  
_ _Let the storm rage on._  
 

_[…] The cold never bothered me anyway…_  
\- Frozen, “Let It Go”

 

 

The Doctor notices. Of course he does. He notices everything about Rose.

 

So he is grudgingly impressed at just how long it takes him to realize that Rose has a secret, and even more impressed that he has not yet been able to discover what it is. When (if) she slips, it is never enough for him to solve the mystery (because he cannot say which hints are related, nor what the relation might be), although he suspects it has something to do with the cold.

 

The first instance is recalled in hindsight. He has been so long alone, that he is out of practice when it comes to considering the needs of a human companion. A Time Lord’s average body temperature is a few degrees cooler than that of a human, and so cooler temperatures feel most comfortable to him (although he can, of course, adjust his body temperature as necessary; superior Time Lord physiology, him). It is three days after Rose begins traveling with him that he realizes that he has not readjusted the interior temperature of the TARDIS to accommodate the (his) fragile ape.

 

He does so immediately, mentally castigating himself for his thoughtlessness (what if this one little thing is just too much on top of everything else; he cannot lose her) and grumbling that she chooses now to refrain from voicing an opinion.

 

She mock-glowers at the Doctor when he says the last bit out loud, but she cannot keep a straight face for very long and ends up grinning.

 

“’S fine,” she reassures him, shrugging off his almost-apologies. “The cold doesn’t bother me. I didn’t really notice.”

 

He does not realize just how true this is until later (he thinks he probably imagines her initial, brief look of alarm).

 

The Doctor notices, eventually, that while she tends to ask for beaches and tropical weather, many of what he judges to be her favorite places are wintry and frozen.

 

Not that she is ever dissatisfied with where he takes her, and she does enjoy the sun and the heat, as long as they are not trekking through a desert. Part of the reason he loves traveling with her is to see the universe through her eyes. No matter where they end up, she always looks around with wonder, sees beauty where he would see only darkness. She does not generally admit to favorite planets or cities (instead referring to new friends, favorite views, or best foods), but he can see the way she lights up and almost glows with awe. Although she has not said as much, Woman Wept, the Doctor knows, is one of her favorite planets.

 

He wonders why she tries to hide it. Or, not necessarily hide it (her love of winter places), but downplay it. Deflect.

 

_The cold doesn’t bother me._

 

The Doctor finds himself thinking more on this sentiment after a misadventure on Denmark (the planet). A business mogul’s teenage daughter is being held ransom by an assassin who wants revenge for some reason or other. The Doctor doesn’t get into the domestics, and the reasons do not appear all that relevant to her rescue. The time limit is almost up, and he and Rose are racing to find out where she is being kept before she dies. The city is cut through by a river with them on the wrong shore, the nearest bridge has been destroyed by a bomb, which they hope means that they are in the right area, and they do not know how many helpers the captor might have.

 

Also, the Doctor suspects that the daughter is actually tied to one of the piers, which means that they will have to worry about death by hypothermia and exposure anyway, and the tide is coming in.

 

Did he mention that it is the dead of winter, and ice floes bob upon the water?

 

Luckily, this part of the river is narrow, and filled with anchored boats.

 

“Doctor, do you even know which pier? And how are we going to get across in time?” Rose pants as they run hand in hand.

 

“Oh, I’m full of ideas, me,” he says with a manic grin, directing her to a specific dock. The collection of boats bob in the water, most of them close enough to easily leap from one to the next. He sends Rose across first, following right behind her, as he is better equipped to adjust to the uneven and violent rocking her passage creates. They find their rhythm quickly, and his awareness drifts, focuses inward on the plans that flicker through his mind.

 

It therefore comes as a bit of nasty shock to hear a sudden yelp and splash as his companion slips and misses a relatively far jump. “Rose!” he exclaims, nearly missing the jump himself as he overbalances. His landing is a bit clumsy, but he does not break anything (himself or the boat).

 

Her head breaks the surface of the water just as he kneels down.

 

“D-Doctor,” she stutters, teeth chattering and looking shocked, nervous, and slightly perplexed. Luckily, she appears not to have hit any of the chunks of ice that float near her. A harsh gust of wind blows through at that moment, and he reaches for her as she shivers. “’S b-bloody freezing.”

 

“I said it once and I’ll say it again,” the Doctor says automatically, as he hauls her into the boat and tries to figure out a way to get her out of the cold (reduce her chances of hypothermia or frostbite). “Jeopardy-friendly, you are.” He hides his worry. She will not suffer from this; he won’t let it happen.

 

A glance at the shore shows him that they are only a handful of boats away, and there are shops that he is sure will help her to dry off and warm up. “If you can make it the rest of the way, I’ll get you inside somewhere to recover and then I’ll head for the girl.”

 

“Wha – no!” Rose exclaims, looking at him with what has become a familiar, stubborn expression as she wrings out her hair and clothes. “You’re not leavin’ me out of this.”

 

“Rose, be reasonable. You’re in no state to continue, and if you don’t get somewhere warm soon you could be seriously ill or injured.” Irritation surges, so quick to do so in this harsh, war-torn body. “There’s no time for us to be standing around arguing.”

 

The Doctor knows that he cuts an intimidating figure (another thing this body is good at), but Rose does not fear him and does not back down. She never has. Instead, she raises her chin and stares him in the eye, glowering back. “Look, I’m fine. There’s no real wind right now, and the running will warm me up. And anyway, you shouldn’t go off alone.”

 

Before he can argue, she’s stepping away and leaping onto the next boat in the line as she shouts, “We’re wasting time arguing!”

 

The Time Lord growls a little (the surge of affection at her contrary nature is completely inappropriate) and mutters under his breath as he follows, “Stubborn woman.” He stops her as soon as they reach land, rummaging through his pockets for a scarf and gloves he has tucked away somewhere. He ties the former around her neck as she pulls on the gloves, and then shrugs out of his leather jacket and helps her into it (tries to ignore his reaction to seeing her in his clothing, in something that so defines him).

 

Rose settles into it with a happy sigh, surrounded by his scent and lingering body heat.

 

Against all odds, she appears more or less fine. Had she looked more than slightly chilled he would never allow her to continue the chase. “Let’s go,” he says.

 

They find the girl and save the day, of course, but Rose unknowingly draws the Doctor’s attention to another quirk during the rescue. The girl is, as he suspected, tied to the pole of a dock, and when they find her she is waist-deep in freezing water, lips blue and shivering uncontrollably. The ‘rope’, for lack of a better term, resists several of his sonic screwdriver’s settings, and then he’s busy trying to keep the mercenary and his subordinates from killing them. As neither of them carries a knife or scissors (something Rose plans to remedy), it is up to his companion to untie the girl as quickly as possible.

 

And it is rather quick. Rose rips her gloves off, and her fingers are nimble and sure as she works to undo the bindings. The Doctor notices, even with most of his attention on the enemy. An ordinary human’s fingers should be frozen and numb, clumsy and fumbling in the cold. But Rose does the precise work with ease.

 

It is such a small thing, and yet… He does not know quite what to make of it.

 

The next occurrence both frightens and enrages him, and their captors are lucky that Rose is there, to temper him and distract him.

 

The Doctor has been afraid for Rose before, certainly. He has seen her afraid many times, has even seen her in a panic (although less the longer she travels with him). But he has never seen her react the way she does the first time she wakes up strapped to a cold, metal table in a high-security government lab on Xibalba.

 

The Xibalban scientists of that period are fascinated by (some would say obsessed with) genetics. With humans almost unheard of in this corner of space, and Time Lords considered extinct, it is hardly surprising that they are kidnapped off the street. Particularly when those streets were in the slums.

 

The Doctor regrets that he only puts this together after the fact. And that the drugs do not wear off before he is strapped to a table near Rose.

 

He tests the restraints while waiting for Rose to wake, and curses under his breath when they automatically constrict at his movements. This will be rather difficult, and they’ve divested him of his jacket, which holds his sonic and other helpful tools. Their possessions are nowhere within the room, but the instruments on nearby trays look rather ominous.

 

By the time Rose begins to stir, the Doctor has come up with a few workable plans and is feeling bored. Ordinarily he might make a racket to encourage a confrontation with their captors, but not with his companion unconscious and vulnerable.

 

The change in her breathing as she begins to wake catches his attention before her limbs begin to shift slightly. He can just make out her eyes flying open as the restraints register, and her heartbeat increases as she takes in her predicament (she has not yet angled her head in such a way as to catch a glimpse of him).

 

And then the panic attack begins.

 

He watches in stunned silence as Rose’s breathing increases, until she is almost panting, but he can see that she is not receiving enough oxygen. She jerks violently at her restraints, almost mindless with terror, and seemingly unable to feel the damage she does to her wrists, chest, and ankles. The Doctor can almost hear the scream trapped in her throat, and he shouts her name, mindlessly shouts endearments and reassurances ( _calmdownI’mhereI’llprotectyouRosepleaseI’mherepreciousgirl_ ). She is too far gone, and cannot hear him, nor does she seem to see her surroundings anymore.

 

The Doctor himself is straining and thrashing against his own restraints, and they were never meant to hold a panicked, furious Time Lord with no regard for his own well-being in the face of his companion’s agony. There may or may not have been an alarm sounding at this point; everything from then on is a blur, even for his mind. But several Xibalban scientists rush to the room, and somehow the Doctor manages to escape (he thinks one of his arms was free at some point, and the restraints are easily released then), and then Rose is in his arms, gradually regaining awareness. The scientists are on the ground (probably not dead, and only because Rose is his first concern, he’ll bomb the place later) and their possessions are back with them, his sonic screwdriver unlocking the doors leading to the exit and shorting them out behind them as they run hand in hand.

 

He does not relax until he has Rose in the medbay, gently prodding her bleeding wrists as she sits on the examination table and avoids his gaze.

 

“Sorry,” she says, staring at the dermal regenerator as he picks it up and holds it just above her injuries.

 

The Doctor is quiet for a moment, considering his words. “There’s no need to be sorry,” he says at last. “Nothing that happened was your fault. I’m the designated driver, after all.” He moves on to her other hand, once the one he holds is healed.

 

“It’s not your fault either,” Rose counters stubbornly, looking him in the eye for the first time since their escape. “You didn’t ask for us to be captured and taken for e-experimentation.”

 

Her stutter is telling, but he merely smiles wryly and says, “Might as well have, that part of town on that planet.” He gently lifts a foot, bringing the dermal regenerator close.

 

“It was an honest mistake. ‘M not gonna blame you for that.”

 

He finishes in silence, and does not speak again until he stands and prods at her ribs. “I’ve never seen you like that, Rose,” he says, low and intense with remembered fear.

 

She flushes in embarrassment and ducks her head. Murmurs, “Sorry.”

 

“Said you didn’t need to apologize.” The Doctor touches her chin, lifting gently so that she is looking at him and not her knees. “Everyone has something that sets them off, even me. But I would like to know what happened.”

 

“’S just…” Rose starts, and then stops. Tries again. “My childhood fear was always finding myself on a dissection table. I had nightmares, sometimes, when I was little. They went away when I grew up, but I guess the irrational (not exactly irrational, not even as a child, but she cannot tell him that) fear never did.”

 

He looks startled and worried and sympathetic. “Do you know why…”

 

“Could’ve been a film. Something mum was watching, and I snuck a peak when I was too young for it (could have been, but isn’t; not a truth, but not exactly a lie either, and he knows her so well she can only pray he does not realize).

 

He lets the topic go when she shifts uncomfortably.

 

She fares a little better, a little more in control the next time they end up on a dissection table. And a little better the next.

 

But the sheer terror in her expressive eyes nearly kills him anyway.

 

And the hints do not stop after his regeneration, although it is quite a while before he notices. The Doctor is not sure whether this is a symptom of how easily distracted this body is, or if Rose was more cautious, more guarded after the shock of his regeneration.

 

It is probably a bit of both.

 

The incident on Eorsin is particularly telling (because she should be dead, and he thanks every deity he does not believe in that she isn’t), but this is one he tries not to question. Partly because he’s half afraid the universe will take notice and correct the mistake. Partly because it is so soon after Reinette, and she has only just forgiven him (he will do nothing to jeopardize that forgiveness, especially after the agony of her enforced distance).

 

When she tells him, at last, about Jimmy Stone, the guilt tears through him anew and he feels like an unmitigated arse.

 

He is also beyond enraged, the Oncoming Storm simmering beneath his skin. Rose may have told him the bare bones of the story, but he can read between the lines. Perhaps it is a good thing that she did not tell the last him about her first boyfriend. That him would kill the boy, rules be damned. This him still might.

 

“Right,” he says coldly, as he practically clings to her, one hand cradling the back of her head while she leans against his shoulder and fights back tears. “The police still haven’t found him?”

 

She jerks against him, and the Doctor loosens his hold just enough for her to lean back and meet his gaze. “No!” she cries, eyes wild. “Don’t, just leave it, he’s gone and never came back, and I’m safe traveling with you.”

 

“Rose, no. What he did to you…” he sees that will not sway her and says instead, “he could be doing to others.”

 

She tightens her grip on his coat and presses her face to his chest. “No, don’t. I shouldn’t have said anything, but please… He’s gone. That’s enough.”

 

“Rose, please, I won’t. I’ll leave it alone. I won’t like it, but I will. I’m sorry. I’m grateful that you would share such a painful and personal thing with me, really. I just – I want to fix it. I’m the Doctor, it’s what I do, and it kills me to leave it, but please don’t think you have to hide things from me.”

 

He waits with bated breath, and sighs when she only nods, still pressed against his body. So he clings to her and hopes that it helps her even just the tiniest bit. The Doctor knows that she is not telling him everything. That there is more she will not say, and not just regarding what that sorry excuse for a human inflicted upon her. Maybe someday she will tell him.

 

And there are other, smaller things.

 

They are trapped by a war, once. The fighting shifts, and the TARDIS is in the middle of a warzone while he and Rose are stuck in a military jail on suspicions of espionage. All things considered, it is not too bad as far as jails go. They are given food regularly, and for the most part are left alone and relatively safe from the battlefields. They have never been away from the TARDIS so long before (it has been over a week since they landed, and the Doctor is growing almost unbearably impatient), but even if they were to escape, it is unlikely they would make it to the TARDIS alive until the warzone shifts again.

 

The day before they finally make a run for it, the Doctor suddenly frowns as he looks down at Rose, and reaches out to twist a lock of hair around his fingers (her heart skips a beat and then begins to race). “Did you change your hair dye customization the last time we stopped by the 32nd century? Or maybe you got a faulty batch.”

 

He trails off. In the past he hardly ever notices changes in his companions’ hair styles, but Rose… Something more draws his attention.

 

“What do you mean?” she asks, his question causing her heart to race for entirely different reasons (when they first landed, she had a few days left before needing to take the next hair dye pill, and so had not thought to bring it along, a decisions she regrets).

 

“Looks like your roots have become a very pale blonde – possibly white,” he says, squinting. “Tri-color hair. Little strange for your time, yeah? Or maybe not. Styles blur a bit between eras, you know, and really, it all depends on geography, and age, and species, too.”

 

“Right,” Rose says. “Yeah, guess it was a faulty batch. I’ll try again when we get back to the TARDIS.”

 

There is the faintest, almost undetectable tremble in her voice. He knows her so well, and his hearing is very sensitive, especially as compared to humans.

 

So he files it away in the back of his mind, with the rest of his Rose-facts that do not yet make sense.

 

 

These are the pieces of the puzzle the Doctor has collected when he almost loses Rose to the Void. And when he sees what regrets will make of him in another timeline, feels an echo of their crippling pain that even still brings him to his knees in agony, the puzzle does not matter (has almost never factored into his actions, and certainly does not now).

 

He kisses her even suspecting that she keeps secrets from him. He knows he keeps some from her, knows that she knows, too.

 

He doesn’t care (neither does she).

 

He kisses her deeply, desperately, and catalogues her taste. There is a hint of tea and marmalade that she ate recently. But beyond that is something unique, clear and soft and refreshing, with almost sharp undertones. It brings to his mind the depths of winter in remote countries, and the brilliant, midnight sun of frozen tundra. And beyond even that is pure Rose, her essence and soul.

 

He will never get enough of her.

 

But the real world encroaches, and the desperation lessens. Rose stands, still cradling her wrist, and turns to approach the white wall. The Doctor stands back, understanding as she leans her forehead against it and cries for the mother and best friend she will never see again.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly when at last she turns to him and follows him to the TARDIS. “The walls are closed. I can’t send you through.” He isn’t sure that he will ever be able to send Rose away again. Not anymore. Even if she asks him to.

 

“Stop it,” Rose snaps, startling him. “I told you, I made my decision. Yeah, I’ll miss my mum, and I’ll mourn. She’s my mum. I’ll always miss and love her. But I love you too, and I wanted to stay with you. I chose to stay with you. Stop making decisions for me and sending me away without my consent!” She winces as both the stress and her movements send pain throbbing through her already injured head.

 

“Rose,” he says a little helplessly, and picks up the pace to get them to the TARDIS’ medbay faster.

 

“We’ll talk about this later,” she sighs, leaning on the Time Lord a little more.

 

And they do. They talk, and argue, and kiss, and make up. He promises not to send her away without her consent again, and she points out that she doesn’t really have anywhere else to go (and tries not to cry as the realization hits her, because the TARDIS has almost always felt like home to her, but she grew up in the flat on the Powell Estate).

 

The Doctor works tirelessly to find a way to say goodbye to Jackie, to give them closure, and at last works out a way to send a message.

 

He burns up a sun so that Rose can see her mother one last time.

 

“Have you told himself, then?” her mum asks her, nodding meaningfully at the Doctor as they stand on the gray, windy beach. “About…” She makes a motion that Rose suspects is meant to represent her magic.

 

Rose’s eyes widen, and she can only shake her head, wondering why her mum would even bring up the secret right in front of the Time Lord.

 

“Tell him, sweetheart,” Jackie says firmly. “Now that I’m here, there isn’t anyone there who knows, and I think you need that, Rose. You need one person who knows, one person to talk to and just not worry with, and I think we both know that it’s that one or no one.”

 

Rose glances at the Doctor out of the corner of her eye, and he watches her quietly. It’s confirmed now. He knows that she does have a secret.

 

“And you,” Jackie says fiercely, rounding on him and taking some satisfaction in his almost frightened expression. “You take care of my little girl, now. Or I’ll give you such a slap, Void or no.”

 

“I believe you, Jackie,” he says with a faint smile that is quickly replaced by solemnity. “And I will take care of her. You have my word.”

 

There is time for one last ‘I love you,’ and then the connection between worlds breaks.

 

Rose crumples, the Doctor catching her as she cries for the family she will never see again, and the little brother or sister she will never meet.

 

 

For weeks afterward, the Doctor watches her expectantly, hopefully. She knows that he waits for her to tell him her secret. To do as her mother said, as she sometimes wants, and confide in him.

 

But she cannot. The words stick and do not come. A lifetime of fear and habit, and never once has she told anyone about her magic. She wants to, and cannot bring herself to, cannot even articulate to herself what, exactly, stops her. She trusts him, her mother trusts him, even told her to tell him, and still, when she opens her mouth to begin she stops herself or changes the subject, and the Doctor’s attentive expression softens in sympathy edged with sorrow.

 

A compromise of sorts emerges without discussion. Rose may not be able to tell him, but she will not lie to him, and she will not prevent him from attempting to discover the answer himself. Even the TARDIS encourages Rose’s confession in her own way (roughly every other landing is on an ice planet or in the dead of winter).

 

Ironic, then, when her secret comes to light on a tropical planet.

 

Rose steps out into bright sunlight, palm trees, and sandy beaches. The Doctor warns her away from the extremely poisonous (though beautifully clear blue) water, the main reason this planet has not been colonized or developed. They meander along the beach, well away from the ocean, and end up crossing a natural land bridge to a distant, relatively small section of land with its own extremely miniature tropical rainforest.

 

Rose loses track of time as they wander, examining brightly colored plants, and even a few small animals. She thinks it might have been a couple of hours later that they stumbled upon a pack of vicious predators that resembled hyenas the size of large horses. The trees are so tightly packed that it gives them a bit of an advantage as they sprint away from the creatures, although the creatures are emaciated enough (and desperate enough) that they don’t manage much of a lead.

 

The Doctor leads them unerringly to the land bridge they crossed earlier, only for the couple to skid to a halt at the unbroken expanse of water. Cursing under his breath, the Doctor spins around, flicking quickly through the settings of his sonic screwdriver and pushing the silver button just in time. A high-pitched noise emanates from his sonic, almost too high for Rose to hear, and stops the pack of alien-hyenas in their tracks. They whine and hiss, cringing away, seemingly unable to creep closer than a couple of meters, but unwilling to leave.

 

“Doctor?” Rose says, clutching his hand. They’re backed up against the water and stuck on an island.

 

“Tide came in while we were exploring,” he says absently, mind racing for a solution.

 

“How long until it goes back out?”

 

He hums, clearly unwilling to reply, and finally mumbles, “Six hours. Roughly.”

 

Rose winces. “Don’t suppose you’ve got an inflatable raft in your pockets,” she says.

 

“No, I do not. Rose Tyler, why do I not have an inflatable raft in my pocket? The trouble you get into, you’d think I would.”

 

“Oi.” Rose smacks him lightly on the arm. “ _I_ get into trouble. Ha! Look who’s talking.” She looks around for a solution (aside from the obvious, and that is only as a last resort). “We’ve got a whole forest over there. Couldn’t you make a raft or something?”

 

“I could,” the Doctor says slowly. “But it might be quicker just to wait until low tide, and anyway, there’s these creatures to watch out for. They’re starving, and too desperate to be run off with my sonic.”

 

“And will your sonic be able to hold them off the whole time?”

 

“Ah. No. Probably not.” He winces. Already, the leader is testing boundaries, struggling to get closer despite the pain. Hunger is a powerful motivator.

 

“Any ideas?”

 

“I’m working on it.” The Doctor tries to sound reassuring, and does, but Rose knows him too well to be fooled.

 

“Just how poisonous is the water?” she wonders helplessly.

 

“Submerging yourself will kill you instantly,” he replies sharply. “Even my Time Lord physiology won’t last longer than a minute or two, and I can’t swim that distance in such a short time, even if I were willing to risk leaving you here alone.

 

Right. There is no helping it, and Rose doesn’t put up much of a fight. A large part of her wants him to discover this last, secret part of herself.

 

“This planet is uninhabited, right?” Rose asks, shifting so that she moves a little closer to the water. “No recording devices or anything?”

 

“No, nothing like that,” the Doctor answers, clearly wondering what she is doing.

 

“And the water. Aside from being poisonous, is it much different than on Earth? Like, does it freeze or boil at very different temperatures?” she murmurs casually as she sends a thread of ice to the shore, testing.

 

The pack leader snarls, inching closer with ears clamped tight to its skull as it crouches.

 

“No, it’s very similar.” The Doctor is clearly confused by this line of questioning. “Rose, what – ”

 

“Trust me?”

 

“Yes.” The answer is immediate and overwhelming.

 

Rose blinks back tears and exhales a shaky breath. What she is doing is right. Not just to save their lives, but to show him that she trusts him with everything, as he is willing to trust her now, in the face of the unknown.

 

“Then stay behind me,” she grasps his hand, echoing their first meeting, “and run!”

 

She leads and he follows, trusting even as they sprint toward the ocean. His hand tightens around hers, but he does not slow her. And the moment that her foot would splash into the water, it transforms into ice.

 

“ _What?_ ” the Doctor exclaims, even as the pack of predators lets loose a growling cry and lunges at them.

 

The ice spreads around her with every footstep, and the tropical weather provides a sort of mental check, making it relatively simple to limit the growth of her ice to a wide trail. She has no desire to accidentally bring a freezing winter to the tropics, after all (who knows what that would do to the ecosystem).

 

“Wh-what?”

 

A glance over her shoulder, past the Doctor, shows that only two of the creatures are desperate enough to follow, and they certainly have no experience running on ice, giving the two travelers quite a head start. When they reach the mainland, Rose releases the Doctor’s hand (he is still stunned, and can do little more than gape and stutter as his mind races, making connections and cross-referencing with his knowledge and past experience) and raises both arms to dissolve the path of ice. She slows the thaw when it reaches the creatures, giving them time to scramble back to their island.

 

Then, in safety and silence, she turns to the Doctor.

 

He grasps her hand, moves toward the TARDIS, and Rose feels relief that he has not turned away, that he has not closed himself to her.

 

The walk to their home is done in silence, and he sends them into the Vortex before turning to her, reading her insecurities and fears in her expression. “I think this is something you have to explain to me,” he says, cupping her cheek. “I’ve heard of similar abilities and technology, but nothing that fits what you just did. And that’s not all you can do, is it (and, unspoken, ‘why are you so desperate to hide this, even from me’)?”

 

“You’re not…I dunno, angry? You don’t think I’ve been replaced or something?”

 

“Weelll,” he begins. “I guess part of me is a little angry (but she’s so afraid, and only recently has he realized just how much fear drives the keeping of this secret of hers), but most of me is fascinated. And not,” he adds when he sees the trepidation and remembers her words on Eorsin, “in an experimental, guinea pig sort of way.” He kisses her softly, reassuringly. “Rose, I’ve always known you were amazing, but do you realize how rare it is for me to see something completely new like this? And of course I know that you’re you. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m just that impressive before you believe me? I know you so well, everything about you physically – and most other things – that not even possession, cloning, or disguise will fool me. Especially with this body’s sense of taste. It’s very sensitive and discerning this time around.”

 

“Is that your excuse for always licking things?” Rose wonders with bemusement.

 

“You don’t seem to mind all that much,” he says suggestively, grinning as she blushes.

 

She looks at him, really and truly examining him before she tells him her story (her family’s story). She sees the light of adventure in his eyes, thrilling and fascinated and wanting to know everything she is willing to tell. Even more than that, she sees the love he holds for her.

 

She’s promised him forever (recalls the suspicions of her changed DNA and wonders if the TARDIS will confirm her thoughts now that the Doctor knows her secret), promised her love, her heart, and her life to him, as he had in his actions to her. Rose cannot think, now, why she found it so nearly impossible to give him this, to show him and tell him of her magic.

 

“It’ll probably be more comfortable to do this in the library,” she says, and they set out hand in hand, with a brief detour to her room for her family book.

 

Whatever it might have seemed like (and whatever she might have told herself after Jimmy), Rose has always loved her ice magic, shrouded as it was in a haze of fear. She descends from fairytales and magic (calls herself Bad Wolf), and she wonders what the Doctor’s genius and scientific logic will make of it (he so often uses the word ‘impossible’, yet calls them the ‘stuff of legend’).

 

But she is secure, now, in his love for her (and hers for him). She isn’t quite so afraid anymore.

 

And that, Rose supposes, is a sort of freedom.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, if you have any ideas about how the Doctor should find out, and what his reaction would be, let me know. I have some vague thoughts myself, but nothing concrete yet, and I’d really like to hear what you think. If I decide to use one of your ideas instead of mine, I will, of course, give you credit.


End file.
